When One is Noticed
by AustenRSummers
Summary: Canada has a bit of a crush on a certain Frenchman. He thinks he's been going unnoticed far long enough.


He had been waiting for what seemed like hours in the dingy hallway outside the conference room. They had locked him out. Again. He didn't think they did it on purpose but…

"Who are you?"

"Canada." The reply was automatic. Canada pat Kuma on the head and waited on the floor, knees up under his chin, arms curled around his legs. Canada couldn't hear much of anything through the solid doors, but knowing the other nations, there was nothing important being discussed anyhow.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doors open and the other countries spilled out of the room. Canada jumped to his feet, searching the mass of nations to pick out who he was looking for. As he scanned the crowd a body bumped into him. Both nations looked up, startled.

"Excuse moi," France apologized politely, shuffling the papers in his hands.

Canada blushed a bit and stammered, "I-It's okay…"

France held his gaze for a few scrutinizing seconds before he brushed past the Canadian and went on his way. Canada watched him go, the familiar ache settling deep into his abdomen. Before he had much time to acknowledge this fact, a hand clamped onto his shoulder and the familiar obnoxious voice greeted him.

"Yo, Mattie! So, how about that meeting, huh? France was totally checking you out the whole time," his brother snickered.

"Huh? But I wasn't…"

"I know, he was totally staring off into space. Like…completely entranced," Alfred interrupted.

Canada sighed. Of course Alfred—or anyone else for that matter—would assume that someone staring at nothing was actually staring at him. Why was he always invisible to everyone? Though he couldn't help but wonder if France had been daydreaming about him…?

"Why don't you go ask him out?"

"Eh?"

"You know, like on a date?" Alfred prompted. "Jeez, kid, you're practically French. Aren't you supposed to be an expert pick up artist or something?"

Canada sighed again. He said, "Look, Al, Francis isn't that into me."

"Dude, don't give me that. I saw him. The entire meeting."

Canada didn't feel like arguing. He mumbled a halfhearted farewell to his brother and started off down the hallway. Kuma pawed at his pant leg and Canada bent down to pick up the polar bear. He hugged him to his chest and buried his face on the soft fur. Poor Canada was just walking down an empty hallway minding his own goddamn business when he rounded a corner and froze. There—right in the middle of a public hallway for everyone to see—was Francis and Arthur. Arthur had his back pressed against the wall, arms around the Frenchman's neck. France had a leg pressed between England's thighs, and by their mutual shameless rutting both nations seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the experience. Canada's jaw dropped at the sight. He froze in place, somehow unable to move. Something sifted inside of him. Embarrassment? Guilt? …anger?

Canada turned on his heel and ran.

Canada didn't stop running until he was safely back in his hotel room. The breathless Canadian dropped onto the bed in a crumpled heat, burying his face in a pillow. He hadn't realized he'd been crying until he felt the damp warmth against his cheeks. He felt so childish for reacting this way. It wasn't like it was unusual to find France in those situations. At least it shouldn't have been. But lately Canada had developed a bit of a crush on the older nation. A bit? Canada was hopelessly and desperately in love. And while that shouldn't have been a problem given France's personality, it was a problem. Because France attempted to seduce every country except him.

As Canada was curled up in bed replaying what he had seen in that hallway over and over again in his head—and feeling more and more miserable about it—his train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. Must be America, Canada thought as he sat up and dried his tears. Kuma was sitting on the bed beside him.

"Who are you?"

"Canada," the nation replied with a sigh before getting to his feet and moving to open the door. Without checking to see who was calling, Canada answered the door with a quiet, "Look, Alfred, I don't really want to ta—oh…France…" His words stuttered to a stop as he met the Frenchman's crystal clear gaze. He swallowed hard. "W-what…what are you…?"

"I came to see you," France interrupted airily. He entered the Canadian's room without invitation. "You escaped rather quickly, no?"

"Um…e-escaped?" Canada repeated. He closed the door behind France and turned to face the other nation. "I don't…"

"In zee hallway. With Angleterre."

"O-oh…r-right…." Canada's words were escaping him. He couldn't think properly. His eyes were glued to France. Why would France want to see him? What did France want with him? He didn't take any notice of him any other time. Why was now any different? Was it because he had caught him with England? Was he upset? Was France going to yell at him?

France went to sit on the hotel bed. Canada briefly noted that Kuma was nowhere in sight. Well, he could deal with the bear later; right now, Canada's full attention was focused on France. And the nation was speaking to him.

"I hope I didn't startle you too much, mon cher. Or…make you jealous…?" It was not quite a statement, not quite a question. Canada's vibrant flush was all France needed as an answer. He sat back on the bed and nodded knowingly. "Ah, you are jealous, no? And why is zat, I wonder?"

Canada wasn't sure if he was supposed to answer or not. France figured it out for himself and saved Canada the trouble.

"You zink I am wasting my time and attentions on other nations," France decided with a casually dismissive air. He waved his hand and assured him, "It is cute, no? You are razer…hm, how to put zis…? Silently possessive?"

Canada's blush deepened. He shook his head quickly and stammered, "N-no…no. I mean, you can…um…date whoever you want so I…"

"Date?" France quirked an eyebrow. "I haven't been on a date in a long time, mon cher."

"W-well…w-whatever you do with…whoever…"

France somehow managed to look even more amused. "Would you like to go on a date with me, Mathieu?"

Canada shivered a bit when France addressed him by his French name. He didn't hesitate. Canada nodded a yes without thinking. His cheeks burned.

France laughed and rose from the bed. "But you would like to do more zan a date, mm?"

Again, Canada's nod was automatic. He took a step back as France steadily approached him. His back hit the door. France closed the gap between them in a few easy strides. A slender hand settled itself on the door above Canada's head, effectively pinning him there. Canada blinked in surprise; France returned the astonished gaze with a small smile.

"Kiss me, mon amour."

He didn't hold back. The permission granted, Canada leaned in and caught Francis' lips in what could possibly be the deepest, most passionate kiss anyone in the world had seen. Even for Francis. His eyes widened momentarily in surprise, but he easily eased into the kiss, humming in satisfaction at the other's enthusiasm. When Canada pulled back, France licked his lips and grinned.

"Not so innocent as you seem," he noted lightly.

Canada shrugged halfheartedly. He responded, "I suppose not."

"Who was it zen? Zee man who stole your innocence?"

The smaller nation blushed and murmured, "T-that's…I mean…do you really have to know…?"

Polite even then. How wonderfully Canadian. Perhaps Matthew wouldn't answer his question, but the more Francis thought about it, the less appealing that thought became.

"Um…France…?"

"Call me Francis, mon amour."

"Y-yeah…Francis…" Canada said the name delicately, as though sampling a very fine wine. He swallowed thickly. "Why…why don't you…notice me?" he finally squeaked out.

France was quiet for a couple of moments. Then he laughed. "Oh Matthieu, darling, I notice you all zee time."

"You do?" Canada inquired, seemingly awestruck.

France chuckled again. "Oui. And zat is why zere is no need to chase you. Because you are already mine."

He didn't know if it was physically possible to blush any more than he already had, but Canada certainly managed to. His whole body must have been an astonishing shade of red. Francis fluttered his eyelashes at him and noted in a low, sexy bedroom voice, "Mm, you like zee sound of zat, Matthieu?" France took Canada's hand and pulled it to his lips. He kissed his knuckles reverently, moving down his fingers before…

Canada squeaked in alarm and pulled his hand away from France's probing tongue. The alarmed nation stuttered, "W-what…what…?"

France's fingers closed around his arm and he tugged Canada forward. "You are not chasing me very hard, mon cher…"

This was all moving very fast for Canada. He shifted a bit uncomfortably on his feet before Francis dipped his head down and was reaching for his lips again. Canada decided it was probably best just to—as Alfred constantly told him to do—go with the flow. He met Francis' mouth with parted lips, effectively deepening an already passionate French kiss.

Tongues probed at each other's lips, tongues and cheeks matching the rhythm at which hands were roaming through hair, over skin and under clothes, breaths hitching and hips grinding and suddenly Canada couldn't take it any longer. His fingers tugged at France's shirt and he whined piteously against the other's lips.

"Please…" he murmured.

France's hands sliding down his body, grabbing firmly at his thighs as he hoisted him up and carried the Canadian to the hotel bed. He pushed him onto the mattress and continued to ravish him in kisses and soft caresses, clothes carefully peeled away from sweaty skin and whimpers, cries, and moans of French musings echoed off the hotel room walls.

In the warm aftermath of what Canada could only consider a rare victory, the Canadian cuddled up against the other nation with a small smile. He nuzzled against France's chest and murmured, "Do I still get that date, eh?"

France chuckled, smoothing a hand over Canada's pale blonde hair. He nodded and agree, "Oui, mon amour. A date and so much more. Whatever your heart desires."

Canada smiled. "Je vous aime."

"Oui, je t'aime aussi." He slung an arm around the Canadian's waist and pulled him closer, slipping off to sleep with Matthew wrapped safely in his arms.


End file.
